


secret

by shotacatboy



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Demoncest, Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, In a way, Light Angst, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, power bottom belphie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotacatboy/pseuds/shotacatboy
Summary: "I doubt you brought me here just to benice,"Belphegor says. He makes a vague, sweeping gesture at their surroundings, hoping it serves as its own explanation. "There has to be a reason, right? There'salwaysa reason.""Why is it so difficult to believe that I would like to spend time with you?"Or: Lucifer and Belphegor make up in the only way they know how.
Relationships: Belphegor/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	secret

**Author's Note:**

> a.k.a. i took inspiration from their ristorante six conversation and fucking ran with it. this is a rewrite of smth else i'd been working on but completely ditched bc the original wasn't up to my standards lmao

Lucifer is beautiful, Belphegor thinks, seated across from him at their reserved table in a secluded corner of Ristorante Six.

In fact, it's impossible to deny he always has been. Belphegor recalls their old lives spent in the Celestial Realm, where Lucifer's radiance was bright and blinding and his mere presence brought about an instilled sense of tranquility, made indescribably magnificent by his composed smile and his gentle, soothing voice, like sweet nectar through his soft lips.

Here in the Devildom his beauty is similar, but undoubtedly different. His posture remains poised and controlled as always, but as a result of the passing years has become more closed off, reserved. The smile that regularly graced his lips no longer holds the same soft, loving weight, and the fondness he once shared is practically nonexistent now.

Instead there are hardened edges, and brick walls constructed securely around the place he used to openly wear his heart. His voice still sounds the same but it is no longer calming. Whenever he speaks Belphegor can make out some distant restraint, likely due to the words he does not speak aloud, the burdens he refuses to share.

_ He's changed,  _ Belphegor thinks, tasting sour bile rising in his throat.  _ And everyone else has, too. _

_ But I haven't. _

Or has he? He can't tell, anymore—can't pay attention to anything beyond the stinging, stabbing feeling in his chest, an emotion he hasn't been able to rid himself of since the war and, inevitably, the fall. It is not dissimilar to dying, like having the oxygen stolen from his lungs and leaving him aching, gasping, begging for air.

Settled beside the pain, of course, is seething, boiling rage. Though it has calmed some, he can feel it ever present like a persistent insect buzzing in his ear, reminding him of all he'd lost.

It should be gone already. He  _ knows _ it should, and yet it remains to serve as a permanent scar, a reminder. Gazing at Lucifer and beholding him, beauty aside, reminds him of it. His bitterness almost makes him feel nauseous.

Lucifer senses this. The frown that curls at his mouth makes Belphegor grit his teeth in amplified anger— _ Don't pity me!  _ he almost wants to yell, and probably would were it not for where they are—and when he speaks he is unbothered, steady and certain.

"We should start off our meal," he utters, "with something to drink. What do you say?"

Belphegor, though bothered, cannot deny the opportunity to make his night just slightly bearable. He nods and Lucifer lifts his arm, signaling for a waiter.

Soon after a bottle of Demonus is placed at the center of the table and Belphehor glances between it and Lucifer warily, dissuaded by the silence that's fallen over them. His reluctance does not fade as he pours a glass.

_ I wouldn't have to feel like this if Beel were here,  _ he muses. He brings the glass to his lips and savors the liquor on his tongue, pungent and saccharine. He scrunches his nose and places his glass aside.

It isn't as if spending time alone with Lucifer is an entirely new occurrence—far from it, actually—but it certainly  _ is  _ the first time they've been together since…

Belphegor taps a finger against the table. A realization hits him, then, but he keeps his demeanor held perfectly impassive, head inclined at a slight angle. "You're not doing this to get an apology out of me, right?"

It's a curt question. Probably a bit too much so, at that, given how Lucifer's brows rise in surprise before he swiftly steels his features again, appearing unaffected.

"What makes you say that?" he asks. To Belphegor's surprise there is no resentment in his tone, only cautious inquiry.

"I doubt you brought me here just to be  _ nice,"  _ Belphegor says. He makes a vague, sweeping gesture at their surroundings, hoping it serves as its own explanation. "There has to be a reason, right? There's  _ always  _ a reason."

"Why is it so difficult to believe that I would like to spend time with you?"

Belphegor swallows his retort, something along the lines of "Maybe because you locked me in an attic for months." Instead he grumbles incoherently and sinks lower in his cushioned seat, eyes sliding shut with forced restraint.

"Never mind," he says, after a short pause.

The awkwardness and antipathy that's grown between them, he supposes, is something that will take a long while to diminish, if ever at all. Demons do not so easily forgive and forget.

Though Belphegor is not ignorant to the fact he's also done some particularly atrocious things. Thinking about his actions makes his stomach churn with an odd sense of remorse, enough that he reaches for his glass and downs the rest of it in a desperate gulp.

When he reaches across the table to refill he notices Lucifer staring at him, eyes dark beneath the dim lights of the dining area and filled with a fire Belphehor cannot quite recognize. He looks as if he's about to speak, but stops, mouth opening and closing again.

Belphegor does not question him, merely watches as Lucifer begins pouring his own glass. The sound of classical music trickles in his ears but he can hardly hear it over his racing thoughts.

***

The Demonus helps to ease Belphegor’s tension, somewhat.

At the very least it gets him through dinner. Lucifer begins droning on about student council duties and catching up on missed schoolwork and Belphegor can do nothing but nod distractedly, leaning on one hand as the pleasant buzz of alcohol distorts Lucifer's words until they are virtually nonsensical.

He's certain Lucifer asks him if he's paying attention at some point, to which he responds with a tipsy smile and stumbles over a lie that he is, making it evident that he is, in fact, not sober. Lucifer merely rolls his eyes and sips at his drink, not the first he's had this evening.

Belphegor hums, contemplative. He wonders whether Lucifer thinks him ridiculous like this—and, consequently, finds the idea oddly hilarious. He covers his mouth, stifling a giggle.

"Is something amusing?" Lucifer asks. He shakes his head, dismissive.

"No, it's just… I don't know." Belphegor leans forward, bringing his body further over the table. The informal posture bothers Lucifer—he can see it does, in the way his expression contorts in visible frustration—but he ignores it, and rests his head in his arms.

"Belphegor…"

Belphegor ignores that, too. His gaze shifts to the empty plate beside him, left clean save for the few scraps he'd neglected to finish. He knows if Beelzebub were here he would have finished them for him.

"Lucifer?"

It comes out without thinking. Soft, almost hesitant. He is unable to stop the slight droop in his voice, the way his brows furrow and the corner of his eyes begin to sting.

The sudden sadness that passes over him is merciless, all-consuming. He musters a groan as he hears Lucifer shift from across the table.

"Yes?"

"Do you think… Will things ever be able to go back to the way they were before?"

Lucifer does not answer. Belphegor didn't expect him to, but it hurts, somehow. His lashes flutter shut and he regrets asking, blames the Demonus for making him act so pathetic.  _ Is this why Lucifer dragged me out here? He wanted to make me feel bad? I can't even put it past him at this point. _

"Perhaps," mutters Lucifer, snapping him from his depressed stupor, "we should order some dessert, as well." Belphegor lifts his head and he adds, assuringly, "Don't worry. It's on me."

Dessert doesn't sound half bad. Belphegor rubs at his eyes until his vision clears.

"Can we get more Demonus while we're at it?"

The laugh this pulls from Lucifer is unexpected, though not unwelcome. Against his better judgement Belphegor begins to laugh along.

***

Dessert comes and goes, alongside more spirits and broken silence brought by pointless discussions. Belphegor asks Lucifer how the others were during his absence and Lucifer, straight-faced, laments about the sorts of misadventures Belphehor wholly expects from their brothers.

"Switching bodies with Satan must've been a nightmare," he mutters. Despite his words his lips are pulled upright in the beginnings of a smirk. "I'm sure Mammon got a kick out of it, though. I wish I could've been there."

Lucifer manages a sigh, thrown askew by his enthusiasm. "Yes, I figured you would say that."

He does not sound angry, however. Belphegor notes his empty glass, how he moves to pour himself another—surely he must also be drunk at this point. The thought makes Belphegor shudder involuntarily.

A waiter arrives to retrieve their empty plates and Belphegor rises in his chair, alert. Lucifer notices. He frowns, concerned.

"Are you alright?"

_ No,  _ Belphegor wants to say, but doesn't. He gets to his feet and crosses the table. Lucifer remains attentive, watchful.

He grabs the edge of Lucifer's coat. The fabric is warm against his fingertips.

"I want to go home," he whispers, low but intense. His gaze bores into Lucifer's as he hopes, desperately, it can convey what he verbally cannot, and Lucifer will somehow be gracious enough to grant him his selfish, unspoken request.

They regard each other for what feels like an eternity—long enough that Belphegor worries the message hasn't gotten across. But eventually Lucifer brings his head forward in an affirmative, his eyes a burning crimson.

Belphegor is unable to ascertain whether or not his cooperation is good news, but all the same can't find the energy to care. His heart thunders against his ribcage as Lucifer stands and winds an arm around his waist.

***

Lucifer is  _ warm,  _ Belphegor realizes, later, once they've returned to the House of Lamentation and Lucifer promptly shoves him against the nearest wall, wasting no time in dragging his tongue along the side of his throat.  _ Incredibly  _ warm.

Everything about him is. His breath, smelling of the Demonus they shared, and his hands, palms burning even through his gloves as they land on Belphegor's hips, holding him still to lay proper bruises on his neck. The knee he slides between Belphegor's legs is warm, as well, and  _ rough,  _ giving way to passionate, needy touches.

Belphegor bites his lower lip to stifle a moan, head thrown back in intoxicated bliss. It is completely uncharacteristic of Lucifer to do something as reckless as this out in the open, where anyone can see—but, terrifying as the thought is, it is equally arousing. Exciting. Belphegor's being flares with sudden confidence.

_ He wants me,  _ he thinks,  _ enough that he can't wait for us to find a room.  _ He sinks his nails into Lucifer's shoulders, lists his head to give him better access to his throat.  _ What if he fucked me right here? What if everyone saw? _

He's barely given the opportunity to entertain the idea when Lucifer is pulling away at once, dissolving the heat between them and leaving Belphegor feeling abruptly chilly, numb.

Spotting Lucifer's expression, Belphegor stills.

He expects heady hunger, or some degree of lust—and though he does see it brewing in Lucifer's eyes it is nothing compared to the smile gracing his features, kind and gentle and disturbingly  _ fond.  _ The sight makes Belphegor want to gag, and yet…

One of Lucifer's hands moves to his hair, then, brushing away stray locks. His mouth is hot against Belphegor's ear as he speaks scarcely above a whisper. “Should we take this somewhere else?”

Belphegor shivers—he hates that he does—and nods fiercely, clutching tight to Lucifer and wordlessly begging for  _ more,  _ his arms unrelenting in their hold even as Lucifer presses a kiss to his hair and chuckles above him. He grits his teeth.

“Fuck me,” he says,  _ demands.  _ He hears Lucifer gasp in near imperceptible astonishment and takes advantage of it, brings him down by his collar and bites his neck in return. His teeth sink in deep enough to draw blood and he laps at the liquid greedily.

“Are you deaf?” he presses, after a minute’s passed and he hasn’t received an answer. His mind is a muggy, befuddled haze, enough that he couldn’t care less if the others overhear them. “I told you to  _ fuck me.  _ Fuck me until the only thing I can scream is your name, until everything is sore and I can’t walk anymore. Don’t hold back.” He tugs at Lucifer’s collar and leaves another lovebite just above his breast. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Belphegor…”

Lucifer’s hands are gripping hard, then, more or less bruising as he squeezes Belphegor’s ass and hoists him upwards. Belphegor is immediately receptive, legs winding tight around Lucifer’s waist while the ground disappears beneath him. He feels Lucifer’s erection pressed against his stomach and moans, grinding against him.

Lucifer takes the hint. Belphegor doesn’t protest as he’s quite literally swept off his feet, carried away and upstairs to the attic room that once served as his personal prison. All the while he continues leaving hickeys at whatever expanse of skin he can find, intending for them to brand. Come tomorrow he wants everyone to know who’s marked him.

He lets out a short  _ oof  _ as he’s tossed upon the bed, door shut and locked behind them. Lucifer hovers above him and observes him with a fiery intensity, intimidating and fierce but embracing nonetheless.

Belphegor grins, anticipating expeditious pain, only to wince in surprise when Lucifer bends and traces gloved knuckles along the side of his face.

He catches Lucifer’s wrist, stopping him. “What,” he enquires, “are you  _ doing?” _

“Belphegor,” Lucifer says, again; albeit gentler. If he picks up on the warning in Belphegor’s tone he pays it no mind, letting his fingers glide lines on Belphegor’s skin slowly, affectionately.

The attention makes Belphegor’s earlier misery resurface, pooling and bubbling in the pit of his stomach. His vision blurs a second time and he realizes it’s due to his own tears, wet droplets that refuse to fall, afraid to beget the weakness he’s done well hiding thus far. He chokes on a sob and prays Lucifer doesn’t notice it.

He does. Of course he does. His free hand slides into Belphegor’s hair and Belphegor, refusing to cave, yanks him down for a bruising kiss.

Eventually they break apart. A thin trail of saliva connects them and Lucifer wipes it away. He peers at Belphegor through half-lidded eyes, lets his command come out in a short huff.

“Ride me.”

Belphegor would be hard-pressed to refuse.

***

“I love you.”

Disgusting. Belphegor sinks down on Lucifer’s cock, swift and forceful, willing Lucifer to shut up. Lucifer’s hips roll upward, meeting him halfway and, in spite of Belphegor’s best efforts, murmurs the same words earnestly. Again.

“I love you.”

_ Disgusting.  _ Belphegor rakes his nails down Lucifer’s spine, leaving crooked marks. He cries out when Lucifer’s cock hits him at an entirely new angle, causing cascading pleasure to roll in waves throughout his body. Goosebumps rise on his arms and it takes an embarrassing amount of energy for him to rise once more, his tail writhing uselessly behind him.

“Belphegor, I love you.”

_ Well, I  _ hate  _ you,  _ Belphegor thinks, angrily. He holds onto Lucifer’s horns for leverage and carries on the relentless pace he’s set. Pretending Lucifer’s words do not affect him, that they don’t mean anything—not while he still smells of expensive, acrid liquor.

His senses are malfunctioning. Every skim of Lucifer’s bare hands touching him is impassioned, overwhelming, like hot coals pressed onto him, peeling away his outer layers and revealing something revolting and damp underneath.

At some point he starts crying. His tears leave twin streams down his face as he snivels pathetically, using Lucifer’s body as a way to distract from it—and failing miserably. He quakes and mutters Lucifer’s name in a seamless, endless mantra, gritting his teeth while he brings them both closer to release.

He doesn’t mean to speak, nor let his question pass through his lips as pained as it does.

“Why couldn’t you have trusted us?”

Lucifer’s answer comes in the form of arms wound around his waist, using them to bring him down harder. He simultaneously thrusts upward at that perfect angle and stars flash behind Belphegor’s eyes.

Dark wings cup at Belphegor’s upper half, a swirl of shining, black feathers as Lucifer shields them over him. Thoroughly hidden, Bephegor presses a gasping kiss against Lucifer’s lips.

_ “Lucifer,”  _ he hisses, as the cord in his abdomen coils tight enough to snap. The last of his composure leaves with Lucifer fisting his cock, giving him the last few strokes he needs to careen over the edge. He throws his head back and cries out—and, spent, he allows Lucifer to continue bringing him down, sheathed fully inside him as he comes.

They spend the next several moments collecting themselves, letting the room remain silent save for the sounds of their heavy pants. Belphegor notes, frustratingly enough, that his appearance is much more disturbed than Lucifer’s, who looks unafflicted save for the sweat gathering at his forehead and the bites littering his neck.

Belphegor laughs breathlessly, tracing his fingers over the latter.  _ Those will definitely leave scars,  _ he surmises, rather pleased at his work. Lucifer perceives this and plants a hand carefully over his.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks. He does not sound ignominious, which Belphegor appreciates, in a way.

And yet… Belphegor averts his gaze, thoughts catching up to him now that he’s no longer consumed by his carnal whims.  _ What I said,  _ he finally registers, mortified,  _ that was— _

He’s brought to the present by Lucifer’s lips, pressed tender on his brow. “It’s alright,” he whispers. For once, Belphegor believes him. “This can be our little secret.”

“Whatever you say,” Belphegor grumbles, wriggling out of his grasp. Regardless, when Lucifer’s cock leaves him he cannot help but shudder at the loss.

Lucifer lays him down atop the sheets and he sighs. Then, noticing Lucifer rise as if to leave, he grabs at his upper arms. “Stay,” he demands, childishly.

“Are you certain you want me in your bed?”

“You already  _ are  _ in my bed,” Belphegor retorts. Seeing Lucifer still isn’t convinced, he tightens his grip and attempts to draw him back in. He lowers his voice. “Stay,” he repeats, “or I really will hurt you.”

“You should consider your words before you speak,” Lucifer titters. He relents, however, and settles in at Belphegor’s side, drawing the comforter over them both. Belphegor curls up to his chest and he adds, “I’ll only stay for a little while. Until you fall asleep, at least.”

“That’s  _ fine.  _ Just be quiet,” Belphegor groans. Exhaustion tugs at his eyelids and at once his consciousness slides away like sand through his fingertips. Lucifer’s chest rises and falls with each of his breaths, comforting in its own right. Not that Belphegor would ever admit it.

The next morning, when he wakes, Lucifer is still there.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this kudos and comments are appreciated!! have a nice day/night <3
> 
> i'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shotacatboy) if you wanna talk! im gonna be posting smth special there soon :>


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